


Take the Sky

by Rhiannon87



Category: Dragon Age, Firefly
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years before the crew of the Serenity picks up a couple of strange passengers, the smugglers flying on Bianca run into some trouble of their own with the Alliance. A Dragon Age 2/Firefly fusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This story was completed many months ago, and was supposed to be the first "episode" of a much longer series. Sadly, due to a combination of circumstances, I think that this chapter is the only one that will ever get finished. (Fitting, I suppose, for a Firefly-based series.) While the story might not be continued, I'm still very fond of what I did finish, and it's time that I shared it with the world.

“Captain?”

Hawke grimaced and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. If she ignored the loud noise coming from the box on the wall, it would eventually go away. Iron-clad logic.

“Captain. Captain Hawke. _Captain_.”

Or not. She groaned and pushed herself off her bed, and then crossed the cabin in two strides. “Yeah?” she asked, leaning against the comm unit, blinking sleepily at the wall.

“We're landing in twenty,” Varric said, entirely too awake and chipper for her mood. “Figured you'd like to know.”

Shit. She'd overslept. She'd overslept by a _lot_. “Yeah, thanks,” she said and scrubbed a hand over her face. “Tell Aveline and Fenris to start loadin’ the cargo into the truck, would ya?”

“You got it, Hawke.” The comm clicked off. She straightened up and raked her hands through her hair. Twenty minutes. Enough time for a shower, thankfully. She hated conducting business feeling like she'd just been dragged through the rear thrusters: greasy and rumpled and probably smelling vaguely of machine oil. Hawke tucked clean clothes under her arm and climbed up the ladder out of her cabin. God willing one of the showers would be free. If anyone else on the crew was running as late as she was... well, she'd had worse days.

Seven minutes later, clean and clothed and still a bit damp, Hawke bounded back up the stairs to the crew deck. Amazing what a shower could do for a person. She still had plenty of time to grab her coat and her boots and her gun before they landed.

“Hey, Em.” Bethany straightened up off the wall. “Running late?”

“Not yet.” Hawke grinned at her sister and pushed the ladder to her cabin back. “Need something?”

“Just wonderin’ what the plans are once we land,” Bethany replied.

Hawke shrugged and gestured at the cabin below in a silent 'follow me' invitation, then slid down the rungs, landing heavily on the floor below. Bethany sighed and followed more carefully, climbing down the ladder rather than half-jumping. “We're dropping off the cargo with Athenril,” Hawke said, perched on the edge of her bed as she pulled on her boots. “I think Merrill's gettin’ some supplies? And I'm gonna make Varric get us some passengers.”

Bethany raised her eyebrows. “Really.”

“Yeah, well, I don't know if Athenril's gonna have work for us,” Hawke replied. “We could use the coin.”

Bethany nodded, arms folded, watching as Hawke pulled on her brown duster and collected her gun. “Can I come with you?”

Hawke glanced up from fiddling with her belt. “To Athenril's?”

“Yeah.”

Hawke scowled. “No.”

“Why not?” Bethany whined, pouting.

“Because it's a shady meeting in a poorly lit room full of dangerous people,” Hawke said, stepping past her sister and starting up the ladder.

Bethany huffed out an exasperated breath. “You just described Bianca!” she countered as she clambered up after her.

Hawke headed to the fore of the ship. “And I don't like the way Athenril looks at you.”

“That's not a good enough reason.”

“I don't like the way _you_ look at her,” Hawke replied, pausing in the doorway of the mess hall. “She's criminal scum.”

“So are we!” Bethany said.

Hawke gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “Bethany Hawke, have some pride!” she said. “We are criminals. But we are not scum.”

“You’re insane,” Bethany said. Hawke rolled her eyes and started walking again, Bethany trotting along behind her. “I know you think you're so much better than her, but you ain’t that different. She's got shady offices, you've got a shady ship.”

They _were_ so much better than Athenril, but Hawke knew Bethany wouldn’t much appreciate that argument. “Don't let Varric hear you talk about Bianca that way.” Hawke started up the stairs to the bridge; Bethany grabbed her arm.

“C'mon, Em, please take me with you?” Bethany pleaded, eyes wide.

Hawke sighed. There were a few things in the 'verse that she simply could not do, and resisting her baby sister's puppy eyes was one of them. “Fine,” she said shortly. “But keep your head down, your mouth shut, and for god's sake don't flirt with her.”

“Okay, okay, and I promise nothing,” Bethany said brightly. “See you downstairs!” She spun on her heel and all but skipped back down the deck.

Hawke sighed. “Dammit.” This was gonna go real well.

“Good morning, Hawke,” Varric greeted her as she stepped onto the bridge. “You’re just in time for sunrise.” His hands moved over the control console, and the curve of the planet before them tilted slightly. Bright, golden sunlight spilled over Persephone's horizon, filling the cockpit with a warm glow.

Hawke shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat. “Were you up all night polishing again?” she asked, squinting at the light gleaming off the brass fixtures on the console.

Varric chuckled and half-turned to look at her. “Now, now, Hawke, I'm a gentleman. I'm not going to discuss how Bianca and I spend our evenings.”

“Ugh. Forget I asked.” She stepped forward and grabbed the back of the empty captain's chair as the ship began to descend, the glow of sunlight replaced by orange flame as they entered the atmosphere. Gravity always went a bit funny at this point in the trip, the ship's dampeners competing with the planet. “So, once we land,” she said, “mind sitting out and grabbin’ a couple passengers?”

“Sure,” Varric agreed smoothly. “Bianca loves to meet new people. Where's our next port, after Kirkwall?”

“Dunno.” The orange gave way to white as they hit the clouds. “Depends on if Athenril has work for us. Probably back out towards the Rim, regardless.”

Varric sighed. “It’s going to be a bit difficult to get passengers if we don't have a destination.”

“Well, if you can't find anyone, that's fine.” Hawke shrugged. “It's extra cash. Just in case.”

“Fair enough, Captain.” The ship dropped through the clouds. “And there we are. The City of Chains.”

Hawke's lip curled in a silent sneer. “Refuel, resupply, recruit passengers. I want us in the air in four hours. At the most.” She grimaced as the planet's gravity took over, weighing her down. Kirkwall stretched out below them, the white and grey marble of Hightown dull in the cloud-covered light. Bianca sailed over the buildings, then dipped down, heading for the Lowtown spaceport. Hawke shook her head and stepped past the console, leaving Varric to land, and started down the ladder to the cargo bay.

“I should've oiled you up before you started.” Isabela practically purred, her voice carrying to the front of the hold as Hawke reached the bottom of the ladder. “Then you'd _glisten._ ”

“You damn well better be talking to Fenris,” Aveline retorted. There was a grunt and a thud; Hawke looked down off the catwalk to see Aveline and Fenris settle the last crate into the back of the truck. Bethany was already perched on the passenger seat, her legs dangling over the side.

Isabela laughed. “Don’t worry, Big Girl,” she said. “No one wants to see you all greased up. On Fenris, it’s sexy. On you, it’s just… moist and sticky, and not in the fun way.”

Aveline glared at her; Fenris heaved a long suffering sigh and shook his head. “Do I get a say in any of this?” he drawled as he collected his gauntlets.

“Nope.” Isabela beamed cheerfully at him.

“The oiling up is gonna have to wait,” Hawke said, grabbing at the railing as the ship settled onto the ground. “Fenris, you’re with Beth and me.” Fenris made a face but didn’t argue. “Isabela--”

“Going shopping with Merrill,” Isabela said. “Wanna stretch my legs.”

“And probably spread them,” Aveline muttered.

Isabela smiled sweetly. “Only if there’s time, darling.”

“Probably not. We’re skyward in four hours.” Hawke headed to the front of the hold to open the hatch.

Isabela shrugged. “I can work with that.”

“Not if you’re carrying machine parts for Merrill.”

“You just lack imagination.”

Hawke sighed and pressed a hand to her eyes. She did not pay herself enough for putting up with all this. “Aveline, keep an eye on things here?” she said instead of responding to Isabela, which the former pirate would certainly count as a win.

“Of course.”

The hatch thudded against the cracked concrete of the dock, revealing all the noise and crowd of mid-morning Kirkwall. Hawke surveyed the mass of people swarming past and sighed. Four hours. Then they’d be off this rock, heading away from the Core. Athenril knew better than to offer them jobs that went any further in than Persephone.

She shook her head and turned away. Fenris climbed up onto the back of the truck, perching on one of the crates, as she hopped up into the driver’s seat. Overhead, Varric climbed down the ladder to the catwalk. “Varric!” Hawke called up to him. “Make sure you get passengers who can _pay_ , all right?”

He grinned at her and threw her a two-fingered salute, which wasn’t exactly agreement. Maybe she should have made their need for cash sound a little more dire.

“There you are, kitten,” Isabela said, and Hawke turned in her seat as Merrill bounded up through the cargo hold, a few empty burlap sacks clutched to her chest.

Merrill peered out at the crowd. “Oh, I hope the market’s not too busy,” she said, frowning a bit. “We need a lot of parts…”

“Just get what’s vital,” Hawke said. She glanced down and sighed, smiling a bit. “Hey, Merrill?”

“Yeah, Cap’n?”

She pointed at the younger woman’s bare feet. “Shoes?”

Merrill groaned and all but threw the sacks at Isabela as Hawke started the truck. With a sharp lurch that had Bethany cursing under her breath, she drove down the ramp and out into the docks. Deliver the goods, get paid, get back in the sky. Simple enough.

*

“Watch it!”

The growled demand was immediately followed by someone rebounding off his rucksack. Anders winced and tried to step aside, and immediately collided with another person. She glared at him; he muttered an apology and ducked into a narrow, relatively empty alleyway. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a long moment. He was just asking to get mugged, and he knew it, but it had been a long time since he’d been around so many people.

Anders sighed and opened his eyes, risking a glance at the crowd moving past his temporary retreat. No one seemed to be paying him any attention, but it was hard to tell. Anyone in that crowd could recognize him, point him out, run to find the nearest Alliance officer and… He shuddered and straightened up. He needed to find a ship and get out of the Core. Immediately.

With a deep breath to steel himself, Anders stepped back onto the street, weaving through the crowd and glancing up at the ships looming overhead. Bright signs announced the destination worlds—New Canaan, Meadow, Ariel… Anders shook his head and kept walking. He needed some backwater moon that he’d never heard of. That’d be a good start.

“Hey there, Blondie.”

Anders tensed and glanced sideways, uncertain if he was being addressed or not. But no, the man was lounging in the shadow of the ship and staring straight at him with a sideways smile. A quick glance at the board in front of the dock confirmed what he’d already seen—no destination. “Hey,” he said cautiously, slowing to a stop.

The man’s smile broadened. “So, what’s your story?”

Hanging around to chat wasn’t a very good idea, but neither was being rude and walking off. Rude got you remembered. And he needed to disappear. Anders shrugged. “Why d’you ask?”

“Well,” the man said, pushing himself out of his chair and ambling over, “my good captain told me to find us some passengers. She’s only interested in whether or not they can pay, but I’m a bit pickier. I want someone with a good story.” The man grinned, his gold earrings and surprisingly distracting chest hair both glinting a bit in the sunlight.

He had a story, but it certainly wasn’t good, nor was it one he planned to tell anytime soon. “Not sure how interesting mine is,” Anders lied, walking a bit closer. “But right now, it’s all about needing to get out of Kirkwall as quickly as possible.”

The man laughed. “Now that’s a familiar tale,” he said, holding out a hand. “Varric Tethras. I’m the pilot. And this lovely lady is Bianca.”

Anders glanced up at the ship—an older model, probably fifteen years old at least—before shaking Varric’s hand. “Anders,” he said. No need to get more specific than that. “Where’re you headed?”

“Not sure yet,” Varric replied. “Out to the border, at least. Once the captain gets back, she’ll have something more specific. Trip probably won’t run you more than twenty platinum, though.”

Good thing he’d changed his credits into coin, then. “I can manage that,” Anders said. He’d be pretty well broke, but people always needed doctors. He’d be able to make more coin eventually. “Unless… do you charge extra for pets?”

“Pets?” Varric repeated.

Anders raised the black mesh case in his left hand. “My cat. Well, kitten, actually. He’s in that awkward half-grown stage. Only about four months old.” He snapped his mouth shut before he could continue rambling. He didn’t want to be remembered as the crazy cat man. He didn’t want to be remembered at all, ideally.

 “Hmm.” Varric peered at the bag. Pounce was still sound asleep, thanks to a tiny dose of tranquilizer. It just seemed easier to have the cat unconscious during this whole process. “Tell you what. What the captain doesn't know can't hurt her. You keep the little guy in your room for the duration, take care of him yourself, and he can be our little secret.”

“She doesn’t like animals?”

“I have no idea,” Varric said with a grin. “But she’d probably want to charge extra…” He looked Anders up and down, taking in the second-hand clothes and ratty trench coat. “And I’m guessing you don’t have the coin to spare.”

He really didn’t. “And you’re helping me out because…?” Anders asked, eyes narrowed.

Varric didn’t seem bothered by the suspicion. “Call it a hunch,” he said, then gestured at the cargo hold. “The captain will have to give final approval, once she gets back, but you can at least sit down for a bit. Get out of the sun and direct line of sight.”

Anders managed a weak smile in return. “Thanks.” He walked up the ramp and sat down on the first solid-looking object he saw: a large metal crate, one of several stacked against the wall. It didn’t seem wise to go too far into the ship. He set his pack down at his feet, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension, and balanced Pounce’s bag on his knees. “Hey there,” he said, peering in through the mesh. “You all right?” Pounce’s tail twitched, but he didn’t open his eyes, and his breathing remained even. “Guess so. Sorry about the needles. You probably didn’t want any more of that, huh.”

Unsurprisingly, Pounce didn’t answer. Anders sighed and carefully placed the case on the crate beside him. He glanced down the ramp; Varric seemed to be ignoring him, still lounging in his chair and watching people walk by. He hadn’t tried to get anyone else’s attention, and Anders wondered what it was that made him stand out. The obvious desperation? The face that matched wanted posters? It hadn’t been that long since he’d escaped, but the Alliance worked fast. They had to be looking for him by now.

Still, it wasn’t like he had a lot of options at this point. He’d have to trust whoever he ended up flying out with, and this seemed like a good a ship as any. If wherever they landed wasn’t far enough, well, he’d make some coin and keep going. There had to be somewhere in the ‘verse where the Alliance wouldn’t catch up with him. And maybe he could start over out there. Open a clinic, help people. Make up for… for what he’d done.

Anders looked down at his boots and laced his fingers together in his lap. First things first. He had to get out of Kirkwall.

*

Flirting was difficult enough under the best of circumstances, but doing it silently and in front of one’s sometimes-excessively protective older sister? Truly a challenge.

The trick was to walk the fine line between gazing and staring. The first was attractive, the second was creepy. Bethany shifted her weight, arms folded the way Isabela had demonstrated, the better to show off her… assets, and glanced up at Athenril through her lashes. The other woman smiled at her, letting her gaze linger for a moment before looking back at the papers in her hand. Bethany allowed herself a small smirk. So far, so good.

Em shifted her weight, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, and cleared her throat irritably. “Everything in order?”

Athenril stared at the paper for another few seconds before glancing up. “Only one-forty?” she said. “I told you to bring back two hundred.”

“The warehouse only had a hundred an’ forty of ‘em,” Em replied, shoulders tense. Beside her, Fenris shifted, the fiber optics in his skin glowing slightly. Bethany swallowed hard and fought the urge to step backwards, away from him.

“I told my buyer I’d get her two hundred.”

“Chickens, eggs, countin’ before they’re hatched, et cetera,” Em said with a shrug. “I brought everything they had.”

Athenril sighed and set the papers down, then leaned back in her chair. “It’s less than we agreed,” she said. “One forty out of two hundred is--” she paused for a second, thinking, “--seventy percent. So you get seventy percent pay.”

Fenris growled, low in his throat, and stepped forward. “We had a deal,” he said, the blue-white lines on his skin flaring with light. Bethany did step back at that, breath hissing between her teeth, one hand twitching towards the rifle on her back.

Athenril straightened up, her hand dropping below the desk, no doubt reaching for the revolver strapped to her leg. “Call off your robot, Hawke,” she said, voice even. “Seventy. Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll take it,” Em said immediately. She glanced at Fenris and shook her head once, sharply. Fenris snarled silently but relaxed, the wires dimming to a faint glow. Bethany let out a quiet sigh.

“Smart move.” Athenril stood up and came out from behind her desk, and Bethany couldn’t quite keep her gaze from dropping to the other woman’s legs, clad in tight black leather as they were. Athenril walked past her, just a few inches closer than necessary; Bethany caught her eye for a moment and smiled prettily. Athenril smirked back and kept walking towards the wall safe. Bethany could practically feel her big sister glaring at her, and decided that she didn’t really care.

“Here you go,” Athenril said and tossed a small leather pouch to Em. It jangled loudly when she caught it; even at seventy percent, it had to be a decent amount. “And I’ve got more work for you, if you’re interested.”

Em tied the pouch to her belt and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll hear what you’ve got,” she said.

Athenril reached back into the safe and pulled out a small metal case, no larger than one of Bethany’s paperbacks. “Microchips,” she explained. “Weapon mods. Fresh out of Alliance hands.” Em opened her mouth to speak; Athenril kept talking. “I had it scanned for trackers, it’s clean. Buyer on Athens is paying a pretty penny for them. I just need someone to make the delivery.”

Em nodded. “This buyer have a name?”

Athenril pulled a datasheet out of the safe and set it on top of the box, then handed both items to Em. “Everything you need to know about Reginald Soltman.”

“Thanks,” Em replied absently, already scanning the document. Her eyebrows shot up, and she quickly pocketed the case. “I’ll let you know when the delivery’s done.”

“I’m sure you will.” Athenril smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And Hawke? Do try not to kill him. He’s a good client.”

“For this kind of coin?” Em waved the datasheet back and forth. “I’ll personally escort him back to his undoubtedly swank country estate.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Athenril nodded at the door. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Her gaze slid to the left, and her smile shifted to something more genuine, or so Bethany hoped. “Always good to see you, Bethany.”

“Likewise.” Bethany managed an answering smile before Em put a hand on her shoulder and steered her out of the room, Fenris trailing behind.

Em managed to keep her mouth shut until they were back on the street. “Could you have _been_ more obvious!?” she asked, throwing her hands in the air.

Bethany shrugged. “Probably.”

“Argh.” Em climbed back into the now-empty truck. “Of all the people for you to develop a crush on…”

“Who would you prefer, then?” Bethany settled into the passenger seat and crossed her legs at the ankle. Even her sister’s irrational ranting couldn’t ruin her mood, not after that.

Em started the truck and scowled at the steering wheel. “I’d prefer that you stayed in your room where no one can ever hurt you or break your heart, but I’m told that sort of attitude is generally considered a mite insane.”

“It is,” Fenris put in dryly from his seat in the empty trailer.

Bethany smiled as they pulled back into the street. Em turned the truck in a tight circle and headed for the market. Hopefully she could convince Em to stop for lunch before they went to pick up provisions. Never a good idea to shop on an empty stomach.

*

The trailer was much more crowded and noisier by the time Hawke drove back into Bianca’s cargo hold. They’d run across Isabela and Merrill in the markets; given the sheer amount of metal Merrill was hauling around, Hawke had insisted that they accept a ride back, no matter how much Merrill wanted to keep shopping.

“All right, everybody out,” Hawke called, switching off the ignition. “Get everything stowed. We’re up in fifteen.”

Bethany scrambled over the back of her seat to help carry the supplies back into the ship. Hawke climbed down off the truck, idly patting the hood as she passed, and headed back to where Varric and his lone passenger were sitting near the hatch. The man was tall, with reddish-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, though a few strands had escaped to hang over his temples. He got to his feet as Hawke approached, his shoulders hunched and his gaze darting around the hold. “Just the one?” she asked Varric.

“Yeah,” he replied, standing up as well. “Believe it or not, most people would like to know where they’re going when they board a ship.”

“Well, those people clearly lead lives devoid of excitement and imagination,” she replied with a crooked grin at their passenger. He gave her a nervous smile in return. “We’re heading to Athens. That work for you?”

The passenger nodded. “That’ll do.”

“Athens, huh?” Varric asked contemplatively.

“Yeah. And, ah, give us a clear route,” she said. “Let’s avoid any traffic stops.” She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they got searched while they had these mods on board. Ship impounded, accounts frozen, jail time for all…

Varric nodded. “You got it.” He headed for the stairs, stepping aside to let Fenris walk past, the other man’s arms wrapped around a large wooden crate.

Hawke turned back to their guest and held out her hand. “Captain Hawke,” she said.

“Anders.” He shook her hand. “Thanks for having me.”

“Thanks for not being overly particular about your final destination,” she replied. “C’mon. I’ll give you the quick tour, show you your room, tell you the rules.” She punched the control for the cargo bay door, and it slowly began to close, hydraulics hissing noisily. Anders slung his pack over one shoulder and grabbed his case, then followed.

“This is the cargo bay, obviously,” she said, leading him back past the truck and crates. “It’s off-limits without an escort from the crew. Safety precaution, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

They stepped through the doorway to the dimly lit hall behind the hold. “Lavatories are here,” she said, pointing, “and that’s the infirmary.”

Anders slowed and peered in the open door of the latter room. “You have a medic on board?” he asked.

“Nah,” Hawke replied, turning back to face him. “It don’t see much use. Which is good for us, I guess, but kinda unfortunate for the amount of money I sank into it.” He continued to glance around the room. “Why the interest?”

“Hm? Oh.” Anders turned back towards her, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m, uh, I'm a doctor, actually.”

“Really.” She looked him up and down. Doctors were usually better dressed than that, in her experience. Then again, doctors also weren’t hanging around the Lowtown docks and fleeing Kirkwall without a care for their destination. What sort of trouble had he gotten himself into, she wondered idly before reminding herself that so long as it didn’t get them arrested, she didn’t really care. “Well, any of us gets injured while you’re on board, you can have full run of the place. Otherwise, again, off-limits.”

“Right.” They started walking again—she pointed out the engine room, also forbidden—then led him up the stairs. “This is the crew deck,” she said. “Common room’s behind us, most of the crew hangs out there during downtime. You’re welcome to join us. Mess is forward,” she pointed up the hall, “and again, you’re welcome to join us for meals, or help yourself at odd hours. Past the mess is the bridge, and that’s--”

“Off-limits?” Anders guessed.

She grinned. “Smart man.” Hawke gestured at the ladders lining the hallway. “These are the crew quarters. You’ll be up here.” She reached up and rapped on the door to one of the smaller, upper-level rooms. Right above Aveline, who would be quick to deal with him if he caused trouble. “And… that’s about it. I’ll introduce you to the crew at dinner. We should reach Athens in about four days.”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “That’s quick.”

“Well, Bianca’s got some speed to her,” Hawke said, patting the bulkhead. “Merrill—our mechanic—will talk your ear off ‘bout it if you’re curious.”

“Good to know.” Anders smiled again and glanced up at the door to his temporary quarters.

“Right.” Hawke nodded and took a step back. “I’ll let you get settled in. Dinner’s in three hours.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Captain.”

Hawke left him to it and headed for the bridge. The engine roared to life, vibrating the floor under her boots, and she smiled as a faint sensation of vertigo washed over her. Back in the sky. Just where they should be. “How’s it look, Varric?” she asked, bound up the steps.

“We’ll be there in four days’ time,” he said. “I could probably shave twelve hours or so off that, but we’d have to spend more time in the Hale.”

She shrugged. “Do it.”

Varric twisted around to look up at her. “You sure?”

 “Yep.” Hawke bounced on the balls of her feet. The sooner they got rid of the mods, the better. “Always like to make the customers happy.”

He smirked and turned back to the controls. “You mean Blondie or the buyer?”

“Both.” She glanced down at him and frowned. “Blondie? You already gave him a nickname?”

“I give everyone nicknames.”

“Yeah. Everyone ‘cept me.”

“Just haven’t found the right one yet.” Varric grinned and pulled back on the yoke, guiding the ship up through the clouds. Hawke shook her head and leaned her arms on the back of his chair, watching as they shot up through the clouds. Within seconds, the atmosphere gave way to the black expanse of space, and Hawke breathed a sigh of relief.

Varric chuckled. “Most people only relax like that once they’ve got both feet on the ground,” he said. “Not when they hit the stars.”

“Yeah, well,” she pushed off his chair and grinned. “I’m just special like that.”

“Aren’t we all,” Varric agreed as Hawke headed to the door.

*

“Did you call the kids for dinner?” Varric asked as he carried the steaming pot of rice to the table.

Aveline rolled her eyes. “They’re certainly not my children,” she said. “I refuse to take responsibility for that rabble.”

A lie if ever he’d heard one. Varric just smirked and nudged the pot of steamed vegetables aside, then set the rice down. Behind him, Aveline went to the wall comm and announced, in as few words as possible, that dinner was served.

“Mm, I love the first night after we’ve been in port,” Isabela said, drawing in a deep breath as she stepped through the door. “You two get all _domestic_ , it’s just wonderful.” Fenris came in behind her, smirking, and followed her to the table.

Hawke bounded in a few seconds later, coat discarded and sleeves rolled up. “That smells fantastic,” she said. “Nice work, you two.”

“Always happy to cook on your coin, Captain,” Varric replied.

Hawke chuckled and glanced around the room. “Anyone seen Bethany?”

“I think she’s still in her room,” Isabela said. “Either knitting or making bombs.”

Hawke stepped back out into the hallway. “Beth?”

“Finishing a row, don’t interrupt!”

“Knitting, then.”

“Probably,” Varric said. He’d met a lot of interesting people in his day, but Sunshine’s hobbies had to be the most disparate he’d ever encountered. He was just waiting for the day that she knit little cozies for her homemade plastic explosives.

Hawke snorted and dropped into her chair at the head of the table. “She knows she’s not allowed to make bombs while we’re in the black.”

“…and by re-routing the coolant up through the hull instead of just past the heat exchanger, you get a much more efficient heat reduction in the engine.” Merrill’s chatter preceded her entrance into the room, trailed by a rather incredulous-looking Anders. “So you can sustain higher speeds for longer periods of time without having to worry about the engine exploding and killing everyone!”

“That’s… good,” Anders said. Varric shook his head and sat down at the other end of the table from Hawke.

Hawke chuckled. “You asked her about the ship, didn’t you,” she asked.

Anders nodded. “It’s been... enlightening,” he said politely.

“I did warn you.” Hawke grinned at Merrill. “If you could call it mechanical, she knows everything there is to know about it, and she will _tell_ you everything she knows given half a chance.”

Merrill stuck her tongue out at Hawke. “He was interested!” Behind her, Anders shot Hawke a semi-desperate look.

“I’m sure he was,” Hawke agreed, smirking. “About three hours ago.” Merrill made a face and dropped into her chair beside Isabela.

Anders hesitated, glancing around the table. “Ah… where should I…?”

Hawke did a count of the chairs at the same time as Varric. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “Completely slipped my mind.” She stood and grabbed one of the spare chairs along the wall, wedging it in beside Aveline’s seat.

Anders flashed her a grateful smile as he sat down. “Thanks, Captain.”

Hawke waved him off. “Just Hawke’s fine,” she said, returning to her seat. “I ain’t that hung up on formalities.”

Bethany dashed in with a breathless apology and took her seat by Hawke. The next few minutes were a low buzz of requests for food, introductions for Anders, and compliments on the meal, punctuated by long silences as everyone ate. “We must've gotten paid well, for you to spoil us like this,” Isabela commented, gesturing with her chopsticks.

Hawke shrugged. “We did all right,” she replied. “I'm expecting a good payout when we get to Athens.”

Anders flinched, Varric noticed, and took a moment before asking the obvious question. “This is a cargo ship, then?”

“Most of the time,” Varric said. “Sometimes we masquerade as a passenger liner, as you can see.”

Anders chuckled weakly. Isabela leaned back in her seat and reached for her drink, bracelets clinking softly. “Technically, you've been one since I came on board,” she pointed out.

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Isabela, I have been paying _you_ for the past six months,” she said. “You are not a passenger. I don't care how often you say you're leavin’ us.”

“I pay for my room and board in services rendered,” Isabela said. “And since those services are so obviously above the cost of transport, you pay me back.”

Aveline snorted. “So I've been right all this time. You are a--”

“Save the catfight for after the meal, ladies,” Hawke drawled, leaning forward across the table to grab the bowl of sauce. Anders glanced at her and did a double take, staring rather obviously at the blood-red tattoo on the inside of her elbow. Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Problem?” she asked as she sat back down.

Anders blinked, as though surprised he'd been caught. “No, I just-- your tattoo, I think I've seen one like it before.”

Hawke scoffed. “Doubt it,” she said. “I don't think _you'd_ have seen a lot of folks with Independence ink.”

“I haven't always worked in the Core, you know,” Anders replied, a bit defensively.

“Who'd you see it on, then?” Hawke leaned her elbow on the table and eyed him expectantly. Varric assumed a carefully neutral expression, waiting to see how this would play out.

Anders blinked again, then shrugged and looked away. “Don't remember a name, sorry,” he lied, so obviously that it was almost painful to see. Varric wondered if everyone else had picked up on it, or if it was just him. “What unit were you with?”

“The Third, _j_ _iàn yǔ dùn_.” Hawke rubbed her thumb against the tattoo. “Aveline was in the Twelfth Guardians.”

“And the rest of us were otherwise occupied,” Isabela concluded.

Anders shook his head slightly. “Might've been a patient,” he said. Lying. Again. Varric felt an odd urge to make sure the man never found himself involved in a card game, for his own good. He had no poker face whatsoever. “And, uh, I didn't serve in the war. I was in med school, so I didn’t get drafted.”

“Med school?” Aveline repeated, surprised. “You're a doctor?” Fenris leaned away, pressing back against his chair, fingers tightening around his fork. Varric made a mental note to ensure that their passenger and Fenris weren’t left alone together.

Anders nodded. “Yeah. I'm a surgeon, actually.”

Merrill perked up at that. “Ooh! Did you ever see someone who's had their arm caught in an engine and then ripped off?” she asked. “Hawke keeps telling me I'm going to end up doing that, but I'm pretty sure she's exaggerating.”

Hawke muttered something under her breath and stabbed her chopsticks at her plate. “An arm?” Anders repeated. “No.” Merrill looked disappointed, for some unfathomable reason. “I did see a guy who almost lost his leg to a hovercraft engine, though.”

“Oh! What happened to him?”

“Um,” Bethany cut in with a grimace, “can we not discuss gory injuries over dinner?”

“She's right,” Isabela said. “Everyone knows dessert is the proper course for such talk.”

Bethany made a face. “Don't say that, 'bela,” she said. “We actually _have_ dessert for once.”

“Oh, really?” Isabela looked impressed. “You really are spoiling us tonight, Hawke.”

Hawke shrugged. “I had a good day. Besides, the bakery put the cookies right in the window. How was I supposed to resist?”

*

After dessert-- which was mercifully free of vivid descriptions of horrifying injuries-- everyone drifted off across the ship. Varric went back to the bridge, Merrill stayed behind to do the dishes, and Anders retreated to his room. Not that Hawke could blame him; being the center of attention at the table was probably a bit awkward.

That left Hawke, Bethany, Fenris, and Isabela in the common room. Hawke cajoled Fenris into a game of chess, while Bethany worked on her knitting and Isabela fiddled with her guitar. Close to an hour drifted by in easy contentment; Hawke was pretty sure the only thing she was missing was a glass of brandy, and she'd be utterly relaxed. A good end to a good day, her sister's ill-advised romantic interests and mysterious passengers aside.

So, naturally, Varric had to interrupt. “Captain,” he said, his voice calm and even and a bit staticky over the comm. “Could you come up to the bridge, please?”

“On my way.” Hawke frowned and stood up. “Don't che-- oh, wait, I'm not playing Isabela, never mind,” she said. Fenris smirked, then carefully laced his fingers together, well away from the board.

Isabela just grinned. “I just take advantage as opportunities present themselves,” she said, picking out a few chords as Hawke walked past.

“Uh-huh.” She headed up the hall, automatically glancing at the newly occupied passenger room. The light was on and the sliding door was half-open, but she couldn't see inside. Something prickled at her as she drew closer to the bridge. Varric had been too collected. Too formal. It was unsettling.

The bridge was mostly dark when she stepped past the threshold. “What's wrong?”

Varric just pointed at the windows. Hawke frowned, squinting, and stepped closer. Another ship, not Alliance class, so why did Varric... It came into focus abruptly: the spikes on the hull, the over-bright glow from an uncontained reactor core, the unnatural portward list of the ship. She swore under her breath. “Reavers.”

“Yeah.”

Hawke balled her trembling hands into fists. Space was huge, vast, unspeakably so. There'd been reports of Reavers in the Hale, but they shouldn't have run across any. Not within spitting distance. She swallowed hard, eyes still locked on the other ship as she spoke. “Prep the engines, but keep 'em cool. I don't want to spook 'em, not yet.” She let out a slow breath and picked up the comm, then clicked it on.

“This is Captain Hawke,” she began, her voice echoing back through the ship. “I've just confirmed visual on a Reaver ship.” She paused and swallowed hard. “They're not coming at us, not yet, but I don't intend to give them the chance. We're going to hard burn in two minutes. Everyone, strap in to whatever's closest. We've got enough distance now, we oughta be able to outrun them.” She hesitated again, then clicked off the comm. There was nothing else for her to say.

Varric fiddled with his switches and dials, hands moving over Bianca's controls with steady certainty, even as the Reaver ship drifted closer. Hawke stared at the other ship, willing it to turn, or vanish, or something. Let it be a figment of her and Varric's imaginations, she'd gladly take the ridicule from her crew over this...

Footsteps pounded up the stairs behind her, and she spun around as Anders burst into the room. “Don't run,” he gasped.

“What the hell are you doing!?” she snapped, rounding on him. “I gave a direct order--”

Anders shook his head, one hand planted on the wall. “If you run, they have to chase you,” he said. He was wearing glasses, she noticed, though why she picked up on that detail under these circumstances was beyond her. He turned to Varric. “Don't do it.”

Hawke closed the distance between them in two strides and jabbed her finger into his chest. “Don't you _dare_ give orders to my pilot on my ship,” she snarled. “Varric, be ready. One minute.”

“No!” Anders shook his head frantically. “We can see them, so they can see us. If they were gonna come after us, they would have. They're predators. If you run, they have to chase you. Just-- just wait them out. They'll pass by.”

Several tense seconds ticked by. “Hawke?” Varric asked, hands hovering over the controls.

“Captain, please.” Anders stared at her, eyes wide and intense behind his glasses. “You go to hard burn, you're damning everyone on this ship to torture and death. For god's sake, don't do it.”

She clenched her jaw. “And if you're wrong, we lose our chance to get away.”

“I'm not wrong,” Anders said. “You have to trust me.”

“Why?”

“Thirty seconds,” Varric muttered.

Anders glanced at him, then back to Hawke. “You ever hear of the Wardens?”

“No.”

Varric half-turned. “I have,” he said. “Thought they were just a legend, a story floating around the Cortex. An elite military group trained to fight the Reavers--”

“It's not a story,” Anders said. “I was one. I know how the Reavers hunt. They're not hunting now, they're just drifting. For all our sakes, Captain, don't run.”

Silence fell over the bridge. “Hawke, that's time,” Varric said.

She glanced at the ship again. It was closer. She fought back a shudder. “Are they holding course?”

“Yeah.”

“Then so will we.” She shook her head, glaring at Anders. “You'd better be right. And once they're clear, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Guess I better tell you about the cat, too.”

“The what?”

The cat, it turned out, was a smallish orange tabby. “I told him it was okay,” Varric said as they gathered in the common room. Anders sat stiffly in one of the armchairs, the cat curled up on his lap, while the crew arranged themselves in a loose half-circle facing him, sitting or leaning on various pieces of furniture.

Hawke sighed and folded her arms. “Varric, I cannot even begin to tell you how low the damned cat is on my list of concerns right now,” she said. She turned her attention to Anders, who shrank in on himself, shoulders hunched. “So you’re Alliance,” she said flatly. An accusation. She’d suspected that he’d been from the Core, but that he’d been military, that he’d lied about it…

“No!” Anders shook his head. “I’m not. Not anymore. And I didn’t—it’s complicated.”

 She arched an eyebrow at him and drummed her fingers against her arm. Anders sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m a good doctor,” he said. “Very good. That’s important. I—maybe if I wasn’t quite so good, none of this would have…

“I graduated from med school about five years ago. Top five percent of my class. I got a job at a hospital right away.” His gaze was distant, fixed on a point somewhere past Hawke. “About six months after graduation, I started getting offers from the Alliance. Good offers, I mean, the sort of thing that most people would drop everything for. Erase my debt, six-figure signing bonus, an annual income that rivals most planetary governors.”

“But you didn’t take it,” Aveline guessed.

He blinked and glanced at her, then nodded. “Something was off about it. The offers never said what I’d be doing or where I’d be going. So I just ignored them. Kept ignoring them for the next six months while they just kept offering more and more money.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Until one day I went back to my office to find two men in suits waiting for me. They explained that the Alliance required my services, and since I hadn’t taken their offer, we were going to have to do things the hard way.”

“Did they kidnap you?” Merrill asked, sounding torn between horror and excitement.

Anders shook his head. “That might’ve been easier,” he replied. “No, they just… showed me documents. Records. Forgeries that made it look like I’d covered up the deaths of several of my patients.” His expression darkened, jaw clenched. “I don’t even know if those people existed, but on paper, they were very real. And very dead. I’d have been ruined. Stripped of my license, almost certainly imprisoned. So I ‘volunteered’ to join the Wardens.”

“You better explain to the rest of them what that is,” Hawke said.

“An elite, top-secret military organization within the Alliance,” Anders said, casting a nervous glance at her before looking away. “They’re specially trained to fight the Reavers.”

“The Alliance denies that the Reavers exist, though,” Aveline said.

Anders snorted. “Is it really so hard to believe that they’d lie?”

“No.” Hawke shifted her weight. “So they did all this for, what, your doctorin’ skills?”

“Yeah. Basically.” Anders looked down at the cat in his lap and sighed. “They needed a medic. After combat training,” he paused for a moment and swallowed hard, “they stationed me on the Vigil. They had me, you know, work as a medic, patch up the rest of the squad, but they also…” He trailed off, one hand stilling on the cat’s back, the other gripping the arm of the chair. “Autopsies, dissections, things like that. Our commander wanted to know everything about them.”

“Then how did you come to be on the Lowtown docks?” Fenris asked.

Anders looked away. “I didn’t come here from the Wardens,” he said. “I… I deserted. A lot. Any chance I could find to get away from them, I took it. They always caught me, brought me back, and—and locked me in solitary. Longer stretches every time.” He shuddered visibly, and Hawke felt a momentary pang of sympathy. “The last time was six months,” Anders continued, and the pang turned into outright horror. The Independents had used solitary as an interrogation method on captured Alliance soldiers, and she’d seen what some of them had looked like after thirty days. Six months… the fact that he was sane was impressive.

“After they let me out, they made me an offer,” Anders said. “I could stay with the Wardens, or I could ‘request a transfer.’ Since I was so obviously unhappy there.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I took the transfer. So they sent me to the Academy.”

Hawke glanced at Varric; he looked back and held up his hands. “What?”

“You’d knew about the Wardens, I thought I’d see if you had any insight to offer here.”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” Anders said, sounding weary. “The Alliance goes well out of their way to keep it quiet. It’s… it’s set up as a school for the very best and brightest students. Full scholarships, a rigorous academic program, complete room and board. It sounds absolutely appealing to your average fourteen-year-old genius.” He swallowed hard; the cat on his lap stirred, then stood, resting his forepaws on Anders’s shoulder and nuzzling at Anders’s chin.

Anders idly stroked the cat, then gently pushed him back down. “It’s not a school. The Alliance is… experimenting on these kids. It started during the war, I think, and now they’re just… cutting into their brains, playing with them, seeing what the limits of the human mind really are. They’re trying to make some kind of—of super-soldiers. Some of the kids die. The ones that don’t are—are tortured. A lot of them just go completely mad.”

Hawke blinked at him. Right. Well. Perhaps that assessment of ‘sane’ needed to be retracted, then.

“And what was your role in all this?” Fenris asked, glowing slightly. Hawke shifted her weight, preparing to jump in front of Fenris if he decided to go on the attack. The last thing they needed right now was a brawl. Or a dead body.

“They put me in charge of the facility infirmary,” Anders said. “I-I did what I could to take care of the kids, put them back together after surgery or tests or…” He trailed off, staring blindly at the floor. His cat mewed softly and pawed at his arm. “I was there for a little under eighteen months,” he continued in a low voice. “I managed to work out a plan. I waited until I had a handful of kids in the infirmary, five of them, and we… we escaped. We ran. The six of us.” The cat meowed again, louder, and Anders glanced down at him. “Seven, counting Pounce.”

“What happened to the kids?” Bethany asked, speaking up for the first time since Hawke had called this little meeting. Hawke glanced over at her sister; Beth was leaning forward, eyes wide with obvious horror.

Anders glanced at her, then looked away again. “They left,” he said. “They thought it’d be safest if we all split up, went to ground. I didn’t want to, but—these kids were beyond genius, just incredibly brilliant... I was the one holding them back. We made it to Saint Albans and then scattered. I went to Persephone. I just… I had to get away from the Alliance. I can’t go back. I won’t.” The faint tremor in his voice vanished, replaced by something cold and brittle and hard as iron.

Silence fell over the room. “That’s quite a story,” Varric finally said.

“Yeah. Quite.” Hawke unfolded her arms and straightened up. “Better’n the stuff you write, Varric.”

“Em!” Bethany protested.

Anders blinked, then his jaw dropped. “You don’t believe me.”

“Look, I hate the Alliance as much as the next Independent,” Hawke said, “but asking me to believe that they’re running a secret school where they’re turning teenagers into super-soldiers? It sounds like the conspiracy theories Varric finds on the Cortex.”

“You don’t believe me,” Anders repeated.

Hawke sighed. “I think somethin’ bad happened to you,” she said. “So long as the Alliance ain’t on our tails right now, it’s really not my problem. We’ll take you to Athens, as agreed, and then we’ll all go our separate ways.”

“Em, you can’t--” Bethany started.

“It’s done,” Hawke said in her best sergeant voice. “Everyone, get some sleep. It’s been a long day.” She spun on her heel and marched out, away from Anders’s stunned, betrayed eyes boring holes in her back. He was ex-Alliance and crazy. If it were just the former, maybe… but delusional meant unpredictable, and she couldn’t have that particular brand of trouble on her ship.

*

She liked the ship this time of night. Or day. It didn’t really mean much out here in the black. They all just stuck to familiar schedules, even when they didn’t make sense. But regardless of when it was, the ship was quiet, only the steady hum of the engine vibrating through the air.

Aveline leaned back in the captain’s seat—sitting in Varric’s chair just seemed wrong-- and gazed out at the stars. Another two nights before they reached Athens and could get rid of the contraband. She grimaced. Hawke’s bitterness toward the Alliance ran deep, but this was stupid, even for her. Thumbing her nose at them was one thing, but those weapon mods were illegal for a reason. It wasn’t just so that the government could stomp on the freedoms of all good folk in the Rim.

She’d given up fighting about it, though. Those arguments got her nowhere on this ship. And much as she might disapprove sometimes, this was light-years better than the alternative. Working as a bodyguard for rich merchants who wanted her to dress up in skin-tight leather and parade around for them… no. There was no going back to that life. Hawke had done her a favor, bringing a war buddy without many useful skills onto her crew. She could shoot straight and she wasn’t a bad cook, but neither of those made her stand out in this crowd.

With a sigh, Aveline picked up her book off the console and thumbed it open. She was grateful to Hawke, yes, but that didn’t mean she wanted to do this forever. She told the others that she was studying law so that someone could pull their asses out of the fire. Her real reasons had more to do with a career change—though being able to tell Hawke when she was about to get the ship impounded had been useful.

She’d gotten through about half a chapter when the metal grate in front of the door creaked. She glanced up as Bethany poked her head in. “Hi,” the younger woman stage-whispered. “I couldn’t sleep. Do you mind…?”

“Come on in.” Aveline folded down the corner of her book and set it aside. Bethany smiled and stepped in, walking on the balls of her feet to avoid contact with the cold floor, then sat down cross-legged on one of Varric’s rugs near the wall. Aveline couldn’t help but smirk. A perfectly good chair and none of them would touch it. They were all crazy, weren’t they. “Something wrong?”

Bethany shrugged. “Do you believe him?” she asked.

“Anders?” At Bethany’s nod, Aveline sighed. “I don’t know. I think Hawke’s right, something bad happened to him. But I’m not certain that what he says happened is true.”

Bethany traced her finger over the grating. “What if he isn’t crazy?” she asked in a small, quiet voice.

Aveline looked away, back out at the stars drifting past. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” she said. “What he was saying… it’s impossible.” Luring children into a school to experiment on them—Hawke was right, it sounded like the plot of a bad movie. But the way Anders had talked about it, the raw horror in his voice… there was a faint whisper in the back of her mind that shared Bethany’s fears.

“How do you know?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense.” It was a weak answer, and Aveline knew it. “The Alliance has its problems--” Bethany snorted and looked away, “—quite a lot of them, yes, but what he’s saying…”

Bethany exhaled slowly. “I just feel bad for him, you know? He seems so lonely.”

“I’m sure he’ll be all right.” Aveline settled back into her chair. “People out on the Rim always need doctors.”

“I know.” Bethany’s voice went a bit hollow.

Aveline cringed. “Sorry.”

“’s all right.” The younger woman sighed, then squared her shoulders and looked back up at Aveline. “Reading anything interesting?”

“Legal stuff. It’s pretty dry.” And still sort of fascinating, to see how the laws had been created, the traditions that went back to Earth-That-Was.

“I can only imagine.” Bethany pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll let you get back to reading.”

Aveline smiled at her. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah. G’night.” Bethany waved at her, then disappeared into the hall. Aveline shook her head to clear it, then picked up her book again. She scanned the array of screens briefly—all clear—then flipped the book open again and started to read.

*

Hawke climbed up out of her room and pulled the hatch shut with her foot. She glanced over at the passenger rooms—habit, after only two days. Anders’s door was half-open, which meant he was in there. He only closed it when he left.

She looked away and strode towards the bridge. It had been an awkward couple of days, feeling like an intruder on her own ship. Anders had more or less kept to himself; she’d crossed paths with him in the mess a few times, but she’d always fled as quickly as possible. He just looked so damn betrayed. Between his tortured looks and Bethany’s silent disapproval, Hawke had plenty of unwarranted guilt. The sooner he was gone, the better.

“Hey, Captain,” Varric said. “Just hailed our buyer. We’re on hold.”

“Great.” Hawke walked to the captain’s seat and sat down, then checked her reflection in the glass on the console. “How far out are we?”

“We’ll break atmo in twelve hours, give or take,” Varric said. Something chimed on his console; he turned away and hit a few buttons, then gestured at Hawke.

She turned toward the screen and adopted a polite smile. The image flickered a bit, then solidified into an older man, his dark hair beginning to grey at the temples. “Mr. Soltman?”

Soltman nodded. “Captain Hawke,” he replied crisply. “What is your ETA?”

“Twelve hours, roughly. We can--”

“Then I will see you in twelve hours,” Soltman interrupted. “I will send you coordinates for the exchange. I cannot have Alliance entanglement in this arrangement. Are we clear?”

Hawke blinked. “Absolutely,” she agreed. “Twelve hours.”

“Excellent. Safe flying, Captain.” Soltman nodded, then disconnected the call. Hawke pursed her lips and leaned back in the chair. That had been… abrupt.

“So, not making a stop in Lyceum, then?” Varric asked.

Hawke shook her head. “Apparently not.” Hopefully Anders wouldn’t ask questions as to why they were making a random stop in what would very likely be the middle of nowhere. Maybe if she forgave his travel fee he’d keep his mouth shut. “What’s the local time gonna be when we put down?”

“Off these coordinates? Late afternoon, early evening. We’ll get a beautiful sunset.”

Hawke grimaced and pushed herself out of the chair. “Crap lighting and exhaustion. Great.”

“Yeah.” Varric hesitated for a moment as Hawke headed to the door. “Captain?”

“Yeah?”

“One other thing.” Varric glanced back at the console. “I’ve gotten a couple odd readings on the scans.”

Hawke stepped towards his chair. “Odd how?”

Varric shrugged, his brow furrowed. “Just… a few pings on the rear scanners, right out at the edge of range. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re being followed.”

Hawke’s stomach dropped. “Reavers?”

“No, no no no.” Varric shook his head. “If they were following us—well. We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Yeah.” She shivered in spite of herself. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. It could be a glitch. Or… someone could be tailing us.”

Hawke sighed and raked a hand through her hair. “We don’t have time to loop around and figure out if something’s there,” she said. “Hold course. Hell, if you can speed us up a little, that wouldn’t hurt either. We’ll deal with it once the mods are out of our hands.”

“You got it, Hawke.”

She jammed her hands in her pockets and headed back down the deck. “Last damn thing that I needed,” she muttered, stomping into the mess. Anders was at the counter, fiddling with a package of something, and froze in place when he spotted Hawke.

She ignored him and kept walking. Sell the mods, drop off the delusional guest, disappear somewhere to enjoy their new wealth. The sooner things got back to normal, the better.

*

“How's the view?”

Bethany shifted position, bracing her elbows on her folded jacket, and peered down the scope of her rifle. “Great,” she said. “It's a nice day.”

On top of the small hill about ninety yards away, Em looked skyward and nodded. “So long as the light holds. I don't want to do this in the dark.” Her voice was tinny through the earpiece. Beside her, Aveline stood stock still, arms folded, statuesque save for her hair and jacket fluttering in the breeze.

“I've got a night-vision scope,” Bethany told her. “It'll be fine.”

She saw Em smile. “You think of everything.”

“Someone has to.” Em chuckled and shook her head. Bethany tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Part of her knew that she should hate this, using skills she learned fighting against Alliance occupiers during the war, covering her sister's stupid, dangerous meetings... but she didn't. She liked it. She was good at it. Really good, actually. Dad had taught her to shoot, just like Em and Carver, but it wasn't until the war that she learned just how good she was at killing people.

She wondered sometimes what Dad would think. His baby girl laying on rooftops or cold hills and playing sniper. Bethany shifted her grip on her rifle. He'd probably be heartbroken to know that she'd ended up like this. That both his daughters had found themselves in the sort of life he'd tried to shield them from.

“Quit sighing,” Em muttered. “Sounds like a damned tornado in my-- incoming.”

Bethany shoved her brooding thoughts to the back of her mind. Her world narrowed to what she could see through the scope and what she heard over the earpiece. Five men crested the hill, and Bethany muttered a curse when she saw their guns already drawn. The leader-- Reginald, she guessed-- pointed his revolver straight at Em. “What are you playing at?” he snapped, his voice distant.

Em and Aveline already had their hands up. “What d'you mean?” Em asked. “I've got your goods, and--”

“This is a setup!” He pointed the gun somewhere past Em's shoulder. “Where are they?”

“Nobody here but the two of us,” Em lied. “What's going on, Soltman?”

He shook his head. “Your _friend_ ,” he snarled. “The one that just landed. We are in the middle of nowhere, Hawke, am I supposed to think it's a coincidence that another ship landed back there?”

“Oh, shit.” Bethany licked her lips, mind racing as she tried to figure out who the other ship could be. Not Reavers-- the men would've run if they thought it was Reavers. Then who? Alliance?

Em shook her head slowly. “I don't know nothing 'bout another ship,” she said. “And I stand to lose just as much as you do, we get caught.”

“Unless you cut a deal with the Feds.”

She snorted and held her arms up a little higher. “I ain't wearin' this color 'cause I thought it'd be pretty,” she said. “’sides, everyone knows the fastest way to get screwed is to squeal to the Alliance. If they don't kill you, someone else out here will.”

Soltman held the gun on her chest. Bethany curled her finger around the trigger. Em had body armor on under her shirt, so did Aveline, but at that range... “I think the best course of action is to make the sale,” Em said, her voice calm and even. “I give you the box, you give me the coin, and we both run like hell. I'll even take off first. If someone's out there, they'll follow me.”

Several long seconds ticked by. Bethany scanned the group, calculating how many she could take out, how fast Em and Aveline could draw their guns, what she'd do if Alliance soldiers swarmed the hilltop. Then, finally, Soltman lowered his gun. Bethany let out a sigh of relief and whispered a brief prayer of gratitude. “Good choice,” Em said, pulling the metal case out of her pocket. One of Soltman's men stepped forward and handed her a pouch of coin; she passed over the case and quickly stepped back. “Don't forget to tell Athenril that we're done.”

“Same to you.” Soltman nodded and turned around, hurrying down the hill with his men.

Bethany shoved herself to her feet and grabbed her jacket, then bolted. She was gasping for breath by the time she reached the top of Em's hill. “What's--”

“No idea,” Em said. “He pointed back towards Bianca. We need to get home. Now.”

Bethany swallowed and drew in a deep breath, then ran after Aveline and her sister, silently praying that everything would be all right.

*

Bianca looked just like they'd left her: engines humming, hatch open. Hawke swept the cargo bay with her pistol as they stepped inside. “Aveline, check the crew deck, get me a head count,” she said quietly. “Beth, go straight up to Varric, tell him what happened.”

They both nodded and headed for the stairs. Hawke moved slowly through the cargo bay. Everything was probably fine. The others were probably all in the common room, playing cards, and Anders was--

“--not going back!”

Talking in the hallway up ahead. Dammit. Hawke crept forward, avoiding the creaky spots in the floor, slowly moving past the dark infirmary.

“You really think they're going to protect you?” A woman's voice. No one Hawke knew, and therefore, no one who should be on her ship.

“We might surprise you,” Hawke said, gun up, as she stepped around the stairs. Anders had his hands in the air and his back towards her. The woman had a pistol trained on him; body armor covered her chest, and her dark hair was twisted back in a tight bun. “'Cause right now, I gotta say, I'm inclined to shoot the person who came onto my ship without permission.” She kept walking as she spoke, coming to a stop just in front of Anders. “So why don't you start by identifying yourself?”

“Special Agent Karin Rylock,” she snapped. “This man is a dangerous criminal.”

“Don’t seem that dangerous to me.” God help her. He'd been telling the truth. Oh, there was going to be some groveling in her future, she could just tell. Although hopefully putting herself between him and the Alliance operative with the gun would earn her a few points. “Sure you've got the right man? It'd be embarrassing, sure, but I wouldn't tell anyone.”

“He stole Alliance property and sabotaged--”

“They were _children_!” Anders snarled abruptly. Hawke almost jumped out of her skin. So, the man had a bit of a temper in him. Good to know.

“They were Alliance students.” Rylock pressed her lips together. “He killed people. Did he tell you that?”

No, but given _who_ he'd probably killed, Hawke wasn't overly torn up about it. “Didn't tell me much, really. Said he needed a lift out to the Rim.”

“As far as I'm conce--”

“Hawke?” Merrill was halfway down the stairs, eyes wide, bare toes curling against the grate. Everything seemed to happen at once: Rylock lunged for her, Hawke pulled the trigger, and Merrill screamed as she fell down the stairs. Rylock swore creatively, blood pouring down the side of her neck from the bullet graze, as she hauled Merrill to her feet, her gun pressed to the mechanic's temple. Merrill had gone chalk white, eyes wide and staring at Hawke in silent shock.

“Drop the gun,” Rylock ground out.

“Hawke...” Anders had started to move forward and was now frozen mid-step to her right. Hawke clicked the safety on and carefully set the gun at her feet.

Rylock nodded, then winced. “Kick it over.” Hawke did so, watching as her pistol skidded across the floor. “Good. Now--”

“Captain?” Varric's voice echoed through the ship's comm system. “What the hell is going on down there? Are you shooting holes in our girl?”

She didn't need Rylock's silent sneer and exaggerated press of the gun against Merrill's head to know what to do. “Accidental misfire,” she said. “My fault.”

Varric was quiet for a moment. “Are we taking off soon?”

“Not just yet.” Hawke really hoped that he'd know something was wrong and react accordingly. “I'll let you know when we're ready.”

“Got it, Cap.” She managed to keep from smiling. He knew. He _never_ called her 'Cap.' Now she just had to hold out 'til the cavalry showed up. The comm made a clicking noise that might sound like it was shutting off to someone who hadn't spent the last year and a half living on the ship.

“Good,” Rylock repeated. “Here's how this is going to work. The little girl here and I are going for a walk. Since you seem so concerned about the lives of children, Doctor,” she spat the title like a curse, “you come with me or she gets killed.”

“And if I'm not okay with you walkin’ off with one of my crew?” Hawke asked.

Rylock glared at her. “You don't have much of a choice.”

“Look, you need a hostage, take me,” Hawke offered.

Anders shook his head. “You don't need to take a hostage,” he said, his voice jagged and broken. “I'll go. Just don't... don't hurt anyone because of me.”

“That's not an option. Not anymore.”

The crew was certainly taking their sweet time with this rescue. “So what do I get outta this?” Hawke demanded, switching tactics. Hopefully this would buy a little more time.

“You get to keep flying this bucket of bolts around,” Rylock sneered. “That I'm not arresting each and every one of you for aiding and abetting is a mercy.”

“Okay, but, here's the thing.” Hawke tilted her head at Anders. “Obviously, he's pretty important, if they sent a fanciful special agent such as yourself after him. That means he's valuable. And let's face it, you wouldn't have caught him if we hadn't corralled him in the ship, all nice and neat. So, could I get a finder's fee or something?” She risked a glance at Anders and hated herself for the ruse; he looked like he'd just been socked in the stomach. “Nothing personal, but I've gotta look out for my people.” Her slow, slow people. They were going to have a talk about properly timed rescues after this.

“I'm not arresting you,” Rylock repeated. “That's your reward.” Her breathing had gotten a little labored, and a thin sheen of sweat stood out on her forehead. “Now either he starts walking, or she dies.”

Hawke shook her head. “Look, there's no reason for anyone to get--”

_Crack!_

Hot blood and brain matter splattered across the walls, floor, and Hawke's chest. Rylock's body dropped, leaving Merrill standing in the middle of the hallway, shaking like a leaf in a storm. “ _Wo de tian a_ , could you have taken any longer?” Hawke snapped to whoever had made the shot as she stepped over the fresh body and wrapped an arm around Merrill's shoulders. Merrill made a soft, whimpering sound, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Sorry,” came Bethany's muffled, sarcastic reply. “I got into the air duct as fast as I could.”

Hawke sighed. “Good shot.”

“Thanks.”

Anders leaned one hand against the wall and stared at the corpse. Isabela, Aveline, and Fenris came clattering down the stairs, guns drawn. “Anyone else?” Aveline immediately asked.

“Don't think so,” Hawke replied. “'bela, take Merrill back upstairs.”

“Yeah.” Isabela slipped her arm around Merrill's waist and led the still-trembling young woman towards the stairs. Low thuds and muffled cursing echoed back through the air duct as, presumably, Bethany worked her way back out.

Hawke turned her attention to Aveline and Fenris. “Sweep the cargo bay,” she said. “I wanna be sure there's no one else hidin’ out. Then start checking Bianca's hull, see if she hit us with a tracker or somethin'. Varric?”

“Right here, Captain,” he said from the comm. “Nice bit of acting there.”

“Learned from the best. Scan the area. I wanna find her ship.” She crouched down by the body and started checking the pockets.

Anders slid down the wall to sit on the ground, his legs apparently unable to hold him, and watched as she searched the corpse. “You were bluffing,” he said.

“Yeah.” She glanced up at him and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. No way to clue you in without tipping her off.”

“Right.” He shook his head, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him.

Aside from a very nice gun, which would join others of similar origin in the ship armory, Rylock wasn't carrying much. “Sorry about, you know, thinking you were crazy, too,” Hawke said as she patted the corpse's legs down. “For what it's worth, I believe you now.”

He huffed out a breath. “Thanks. I guess.”

She rocked back on her heels and looked at him. “I mean it,” she said. “I’m real sorry. It's just... It ain't an easy story to swallow without proof.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I probably wouldn't have believed it either, if I hadn't lived it.”

“Captain?” Fenris called from the end of the hallway. “Found the tracker.”

She looked up. “Good. Varric? Got anything?”

“I think so,” he said. “Picking up something about half a mile away. Straight shot to the west, looks like.”

“All right then. Send Beth down to the hold, will ya?”

“Got it.” Varric blew out a breath. “I'm coming down there too. I want to see what she did to my baby.”

Hawke nodded and pushed herself to her feet. “Fenris, mind helping me move this?” she asked, waving at the body as she stepped over to Anders.

Fenris just sighed. “If you insist.”

“I sorta do.” Hawke held a hand out to Anders. “C'mon. I need all hands on deck, Doctor.”

Anders blinked at her, clearly confused by her change in attitude. Poor guy. As awful a day as it had been for Hawke, he must have had it about ten times worse. He took her hand; she pulled him to his feet and handed him the gun. “Hang on to that for me,” she said and turned back to the body. “I'm about to have my hands full.”

She and Fenris dumped the body in the dirt without ceremony. “Want me to bury this?” Fenris asked, nudging Rylock in the ribs with his boot.

“Sure, if you don't mind.” Hawke nodded at him; Fenris turned and went back into the hold, presumably to find their one shovel. Anders continued his imitation of a lost puppy and trailed after Hawke as she headed around the side of the ship.

Aveline, Varric, and Bethany were standing to one side of the cargo bay door, staring up at a point on the hull. “She shot Bianca,” Varric said, hurt and shock mixing in his voice. “Look at that.”

Hawke looked. There was a steel ball about the size of a grapefruit stuck to the side of the ship, with thick, clear epoxy holding it in place. “She'll be all right, Varric. We'll get her cleaned up at the next town.”

“Shot her,” Varric repeated. Hawke rolled her eyes and left him to his grief. “Aveline, Beth, you two up for raiding a ship?”

Aveline nodded. Bethany sighed and scrubbed at the grease stains on her arms. “I'm in.”

Hawke smirked. “Gonna be a fight for the showers tonight, huh,” she said.

“At least I'm only covered in engine oil,” Bethany said. “You sure you don't wanna wash up first?”

“Nah.” Hawke shrugged. “I'll be fine. Let's grab the truck and go.” She turned back towards the bay and caught Anders by the elbow as she walked. He jumped at the contact. “You can ride shotgun, Doc.”

He stumbled a bit as she led him towards the truck. “I, uh, what?”

“Need someone who knows Alliance tech,” she said, leaving him by the passenger seat and walking around to the driver's side. “Normally, that'd be Varric, but he's gonna be weeping over Bianca for the next week, so you're it.”

Anders shook his head, still looking dazed, and climbed in. Hawke checked over her shoulder to make sure Aveline and Bethany were safely settled, then started the engine.

*

This had to have been one of the more bizarre days of his life.

Anders followed Hawke into the small Alliance craft, his mind still reeling and racing, trying to sort through everything that had happened. He'd been on his way back to his room from the lavatories when Rylock had shown up. And then Hawke, who'd been acting like she was thirty seconds away from spacing him for the past two days, jumped in front of him. Protected him. She'd suddenly decided he was worthwhile, and the entire crew had followed her lead.

“All righty then,” Hawke said, settling into the pilot's chair and poking at a few buttons. “I know a little bit about this kinda tech, but that was mostly stuff we stole in the war.” She twisted around to look back at him. “Think you can figure out if she sent any messages back to command?”

“Uh. So long as none of it’s password protected, probably.” He could navigate standard Alliance systems, but if she was expecting him to hack into top-secret databases, she was out of luck.

Hawke nodded and stood up, moving aside so he could take a seat. Anders scrolled through the menus, looking for communication records. A few minutes passed in silence while Hawke poked around at the storage lockers, occasionally tossing something she deemed useful out the hatch. Bethany and Aveline were outside, stripping the ship for parts and loading them into the truck.

“Can I ask you something?” Anders finally said.

“Think you just did,” Hawke replied with an audible smile.

He managed a weak laugh. “I, uh, I just-- you had an Alliance officer killed back there,” he said.

“Anders, there was a war a few years back, you might’ve heard about it,” she said, leaning against the console. “I've killed a lot of Alliance officers in my day.”

“This is different. You had your sister kill a special agent--”

“Beth's killed a lot of Alliance officers too,” Hawke said. “And I didn't have her do anything. She made the choice. Good thing, too, she's probably the best shot on the ship.”

Anders shook his head and looked up at her. “Why?” he asked. “Why'd you do that for me?”

Hawke looked away, gazing out the window at the rapidly dimming world. “She came onto my ship and threatened folks under my protection,” she said. “You're on my ship, you're my responsibility. Even if I think you're crazy. Which, by the way, I don’t.”

“Appreciate it.” He sighed and looked back at the screen. “You took a hell of a risk, though.”

“Story of my life.”

Anders shook his head. At least she didn't seem worried about it. “Here we go,” he murmured. “Last communication went out... four days ago.”

Hawke planted a hand on the back of the chair and leaned over him to read the message. Anders tensed, trying not to notice how very close and very warm she was. Rylock's last report stated that she'd located him in Kirkwall and would continue to track his movements. She said she'd report in once he'd been apprehended. “Blackout,” Hawke said. “She probably thought we'd have picked her up if she sent anything out while she was tailin' us so close.”

“So the Alliance doesn't know I'm here.”

“Nope.” Hawke tapped the screen. “You're free and clear. For the moment.” Anders closed his eyes and let out a relieved sigh. Hawke chuckled. “I know the feeling,” she said and squeezed his shoulder. “C'mon. Move out of the way so I can riddle this thing with bullets.”

Anders shook his head. “I want the computer,” he said. “I need to see what she had on me. On the Academy.”

Hawke tapped her fingers against the butt of her gun, then shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said. “If you can get it out, it's all yours.” She stepped back from the cockpit. “I'm gonna see if there's anything else fun in here.”

He nodded and ran his fingers over the dash, then smiled as he found the catch and lifted the whole shell up, revealing a nest of wires and blinking lights. “Right,” he said. “What the hell am I looking for?”

Thirty minutes and one detailed conversation with Varric later, Anders had a shiny new quantum drive to play with. Hawke and the rest of the crew had a truck full of engine parts and scrap metal, which rattled noisily as they drove into the cargo bay. “Aveline, get the door, and tell Varric we're ready to go,” Hawke said. “Beth, get a tarp over this stuff. We'll sell it in Lyceum.”

The two women moved to obey her orders. Fenris emerged from the back hall and strode over. “Everything's been cleaned up,” he reported. “As soon as we've patched the wall, no one will be able to tell what happened.”

Hawke nodded. “Good work. Thanks.”

Anders slid down from the passenger seat. “How big's the dock in Lyceum?” he asked, glancing at Hawke. By this time tomorrow, he’d be gone, on another ship or wandering the city. The idea shouldn't have pained him as much as it did.

Hawke frowned at him. “Big enough,” she said. “Why?”

“Just wondering what my odds of finding a ship heading further out are.”

“Oh.” Hawke shoved her hands in her pockets. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to stay, actually.”

Anders blinked at her. “What?”

Fenris looked equally shocked. “Hawke, are you out of your mind?”

Hawke just held up a finger to silence Fenris, her attention fully focused on Anders. “We could use a medic-- got that fancy med-bay just goin' to waste back there. And you'd be safer on the move.”

“And we'd be taking on a fugitive from the Alliance,” Fenris pointed out.

Hawke rolled her eyes. “In case you hadn't noticed, we all fit that category,” she said. “Smugglers, remember?” She glanced back at Anders. “We're smugglers, by the way.”

Between the lack of obvious cargo and the random landing in the middle of nowhere, he’d sort of worked that much out. “Believe it or not, that's not surprising,” he said.

Hawke shrugged. “Plus there's the slavers and Varric's brother and everyone else,” she continued. “So adding another Alliance fugitive and his cat to the mix is not going to make things noticeably worse.”

Fenris scowled at her, then at Anders, then turned on his heel and stalked off. Hawke shook her head. “Lucky for you, he don't make the decisions on the ship,” she said. “I do. You wanna stay?”

He had no idea what Hawke was getting out of it, why she wanted him to stay... but she'd saved his life, executed an Alliance officer in cold blood for him. Clearly she was willing to stick her neck out on his behalf. That wasn't something to walk away from. “Yeah. As long as you'll have me.”

She grinned and clapped him on the arm. “Good.” The engines rumbled to life, vibrating the ship, and Hawke glanced up at the ceiling. “Go get cleaned up, then take a look at the med-bay and tell me what we need. I'm sure it's awful empty.”

“Right.” Anders smiled back, breathing coming easier than it had since... well, longer than he could remember. It wasn't safe; a ship of smugglers and criminals was going to be hounded by the Alliance for one reason or another. But at least he wasn't alone. That was something.

Hawke turned away and headed for the stairs. “Welcome to the crew, Doctor.”

Anders let out a slow breath. “Thank you, Captain.”

*

“Thank you for seeing us so promptly, Commander.” The taller of the two men gave a thin, mirthless smile. “So many officers don’t understand the important of partnership with the civilian branches.”

Meredith nodded. “Of course,” she replied. “Whatever the Alliance needs, I’m glad to provide.” The last thing she needed was for these two to complain to Elthina that she was being uncooperative.

The other man, who’d taken a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of her desk, picked up a thin leather case off the floor and balanced it on his knees. “We’re tracking two fugitives from justice,” he explained as he undid the locks. Meredith nodded again and tried not to stare at their hands. If they had some kind of medical condition, why weren’t they wearing masks as well? Why just the gloves? The case clicked open, and he took out two datasheets. “We hope that you can assist us in our search.”

Meredith took the sheets and looked at them, studying the names and photos. The man looked angry, haunted, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed as he stared at the photographer. The girl, on the other hand, was smiling, carefree in her ident card photo. “She seems young,” Meredith commented.

“The picture is a few years out of date,” the taller man said. “Rest assured, she is guilty of war crimes.”

“And him?”

“Kidnapping, sabotage, murder.” The seated man shook his head, almost in disappointment. “They are both dangerous, Commander. We request that you use the utmost discretion in apprehending them.”

“Understood.” She laid the sheets side-by-side on her otherwise clean desk. “Who do I contact when they have been caught?”

The seated man got to his feet. “Notify Elthina,” he said. “She’ll know who to contact.”

Meredith frowned, ever so slightly, but didn’t argue. “Very well.”

The taller man nodded. “Thank you for your assistance, Commander Stannard.”

“Of course. Have a good day.” She watched as they left, then looked back down at the datasheets. Anders Själkraft and Bethany Hawke. Meredith exhaled and reached for her phone. She’d need to start making arrangements.


End file.
